Puslapio vaizdai
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Alone, to the banks of the dark rolling Danube

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Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose

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Burg Niedeck is a mountain in Alsace, high and strong

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Come take up your hats, and away let us haste

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Have I a knight, or have I a page

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He is gone on the mountain

⚫He left his home with a bounding heart

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He sat in silence on the ground.

He talked of daggers and of darts

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Her chariot ready strait is made.

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Her hands were clasped, her dark eyes raised
Here it comes sparkling

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Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue

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High sounds the song of the valiant man

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How many thousands are wakening now
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest

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I sprung to the stirrup, and Joris, and he

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I wish I were where Helen lies

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In schools of wisdom all the day was spent.

Inscribed on many a learned page

In the hollow tree, in the gray old tower

It is an ancient mariner

It was an aged man, who stood

It was an hour of grief and fear

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Morn on the waters, and purple and bright
Mother, mother, the winds are at play.

My beautiful, my beautiful, that standest meekly by

My hawk is tired of perch and hood

No eye beheld when William plunged

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts .
Now pardon well, you parents dear
Now, woman, why without your veil

Of Leinster, famed for maidens fair

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray
Oh, call my brother back to me
Oh, weep no more, sweet mother

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O Mary, go and call the cattle home
On Linden when the sun was low

On the green banks of Shannon when Sheelah was nigh
O say what is that thing called light

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Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lowered
O young Lochinvar is come out of the west.

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Silent and mournful sat an Indian chief

Singing and dancing being all their pleasure
Sir Hilary charged at Agincourt .

Sleep breathes at last from out thee

Sleep, little baby, sleep

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Some murmur, when their sky is clear.

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Southward with fleet of ice

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The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold

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The fiery courser, when he hears from far

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The fires blazed bright till deep midnight

The fox and the cat, as they travelled one day
The glories of our birth and state

The harp that once through Tara's halls
The king sat in Dunfermline town

The minstrel boy to the war is gone

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The months all riding came

The Moor had beleaguered Valencia's towers

The Moslem spears were gleaming

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The muffled drum was heard

The ordeal's fatal trumpet sounded

The shepherd of the Alps am I .
The spearmen heard the bugle sound

The summer and autumn had been so wet

The trumpet's voice hath roused the land
The twilight is sad and cloudy
The war-god did not wake to strife
The war-note of the Saracen

The warrior bowed his crested head
The water rushed, the water swelled
The way was long, the wind was cold
The Wildgrave winds his bugle horn
Then each at once his falchion drew

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There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin

There's George Fisher, Charles Fleming, and Reginald Shore
There were three kings into the East
They grew in beauty side by side

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They made her a grave too cold and damp
They shot him dead at the Nine-Stone Rig
Three fishers went sailing away to the west
Toll for the brave

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'Twas dead of night, when weary bodies close
'Twas Pentecost, the feast of gladness .
'Twas the battle-field, and the cold pale moon

'Twas in heaven pronounced, 'twas muttered in hell

Underneath an old oak tree

Under the green hedges after the snow

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